


Basking In The Sun

by myriddin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Breastfeeding, Canon-Typical Underage, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:46:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6152680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriddin/pseuds/myriddin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Rhaegar wins the war, and takes Lyanna Stark as his second wife even when the child she bears him is a boy. Nobody is exactly pleased with this development, but Elia is surprisingly kind–to the point where Lyanna loves her more dearly than any Dragon.</p><p>Original Prompt: http://valar-morekinks.livejournal.com/316.html?thread=121404#t121404</p>
            </blockquote>





	Basking In The Sun

By the time Lyanna Stark was sixteen, she had been forced into adulthood long enough to be fully, painfully aware she had committed exactly three grievous, irreversible mistakes in her short life.

The first, at least- being born a daughter instead of a son- was perhaps the only one she had no hope of controlling. For as long as she could remember, Lya had wanted to be Brandon, wanted the freedom to ride, and fight, and kiss pretty girls.

Despite their father’s disapproval, Brandon indulged her whims, and Benjen followed her into all sorts of mischief, but things began to change when her body began to take on a woman’s shape. Brandon laughed and teased when he found her entangled with Jeyne Liddle in the hayloft after too much wine at a feast, but when her betrothal to Robert was announced within the month, the incident encouraged a kernel of suspicion she never quite forgave her brother for.

Rhaegar’s song was lovely, but his honeyed words and warm looks stirred nothing within her. There was only relief that he agreed to bury the truth of the Knight of the Laughing Tree with the shield, confusion when he placed the crown upon her head, but his promises of freedom when he came for her months later broke through her indifference.

Her greatest mistake was climbing willingly onto his horse.

Rhaegar’s promises were just another cage, one that nearly led to the destruction of everything she loved. Redemption came in form of the dark-haired, grey-eyed babe she refused to relinquish for the long march from Dorne to King’s Landing. Jon, her heart whispered, Jon whom she clutched protectively to her breast the first time she was faced with Princess, their royal husband still negotiating in the Stormlands. Lya sank to her knees with care of the sleeping infant she cradled against her, bowing her head as she awaited judgment.

Her third mistake would come later, but it began in this moment, when Elia’s dark eyes studied them, and their sharp inquisition softened into something warm and indistinguishable. “Gods be good,” the princess breathed softly, “You’re only a child.”

Somehow those words were like a lock into a key, the inexplicable permission Lyanna needed to finally let go, as she began to brokenly sob. Elia gently rested a hand against her head, soothingly stroking her thumb across her brow. “Shh, sweetling. Everything will be well. You both are under my protection now.”

And that was the moment Elia Martell first etched out her own little corner in Lyanna Stark’s heart.

+++

Though the Princess had been gracious and sympathetic, Lyanna figured it was best not to push her luck and largely kept to her new chambers (not in the least because Oberyn Martell had rode to his sister’s side the moment a raven could be sent and now stalked the halls with his viper’s eyes and tongue). Jon was still young enough to sleep long, irregular hours, making it easier to venture out at times when few people were around, short excursions to the library or gardens.

The matronly nursemaid she allowed to help her care for Jon (never a wet nurse, she was hale and hardy, why should her son known any milk but her own?) had chided her at first for exposing the little prince to the winter air, but Lyanna tartly reminded the woman that a Southron winter was still warmer than a Northern summer, and generations of Northern babes had done just fine.

The light of her days was her cub’s happy little coos when he recognized her voice, the barest hints of a smile he was beginning to display. She dreaded the day Rhaegar returned to the capitol, certain he would order her to relinquish her precious boy to the nursery, separate them until her teats dried and he could mount her again to try for the daughter she’d failed to deliver him the first time.  
  
+++

Six weeks after her arrival, the Queen Mother died in the birthing bed, and the realm had a new princess.

Rhaegar sent news he would be riding back as quickly and swiftly as his horse could carry him. His coronation would occur as soon as the mourning period was over, and with his new power, he would tighten the shackles Lyanna had so naively slipped her own wrists into. Jon’s birth had guaranteed the crown he would place upon her head (a pretty chain around her neck) and the dread continued to grow with each passing day.

There were, at least, distractions to found.

As if in mourning for the mother she would never know, Daenerys was a temperamental child, so rarely able to be soothed that only exhaustion could calm her wailing. The crying was so disruptive for the other royal children, the girl was moved from the main nursery to one close to Lyanna’s own chambers. After witnessing one too many nurses at their wit’s end, it wasn’t long before one evening, Lyanna found herself tucking a slumbering Jon, an impossibly deep sleeper when his belly was full, into his sling (made of soft, rich linen Princess Elia had sent as a gift, yet another kindness Lyanna wasn’t sure she deserved) and slipped down the corridor to the nursery.

She dismissed the harried wet-nurse, who looked close-to-tears over a babe more interested in fussing than feeding, rested Jon gently in one of the cradles, and sat down in a chair with Daenerys in her arms. Parting the folds of her dressing gown and untying the top laces of her shift, Lyanna nestled the fussy babe against her breast. She slowly rocked, stroked her head, and whispered soft, nonsensical words meant to comfort and soothe.

It took time, but the child calmed, and Lyanna hummed with approval when Daenerys latched onto her breast and began a hungry suckle. “There, now. That’s better, isn’t it?” She sighed softly. “All those months, your mother was all you knew, then she couldn’t be there with you when you opened your eyes. No wonder you’ve been so bereft. Poor sweetling.”

She pressed a kiss to silvery hair soft as down. “Daenerys is quite a mouthful for such a tiny thing. Mayhaps just between you and I, we can use something a little lighter. What do you think, little one? Are you a ‘Dany’?”

“It suits her.”

It was only regard for the babe at her breast that kept Lyanna from jumping in surprise as she lifted her head to see Princess Elia framing the doorway, a soft, enigmatic playing across her lips. “I apologize, my lady. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I…no harm done, Your Grace.”

The Princess crossed the room with such elegant grace, Lya felt her breath catch with uncomfortable familiarity.

Elia extended her hand to rest over the one Lyanna had resting against Dany’s crown. “You’re good with her. I regret I been so indisposed with matters of the Crown, I haven’t been able to tend to her. Thank you for doing so.”

Lyanna forgot her apprehension long enough to smile down at the little princess. “It’s no trouble, Your Grace.”

Dark eyes studied her with a calm, thoughtful gaze, her mouth curving into another smile. One that Lyanna shyly started to return, her heart giving a little flutter when she watched the Princess’ face visibly brighten at her reciprocation.

It was far from the first time that Elia’s favor felt much like basking in the summer sun.

 


End file.
